


you and me see how we are

by mansgotalimit



Category: Real Person Fiction
Genre: M/M, am i going to stop writing them? absolutely fucking not, is this another reunion fic? from me? noooo you must be mistaken...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:20:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25514188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mansgotalimit/pseuds/mansgotalimit
Summary: It had been Noel’s idea, of course.“If we’re going to do this,” he’d said, “we have to do it right.” Liam had just stared at him. What the fuck was that supposed to mean?“We’re doing it right,” he’d said. “We’re proper in love again, innit?” Noel had rolled his eyes, let out an exasperated sigh, and put his hands on his hips, big-brother mode fired up and ready to go.“We’re going to therapy,” he’d said, like it was already decided and Liam didn’t have a say in the matter.
Relationships: Liam Gallagher/Noel Gallagher
Comments: 21
Kudos: 58





	you and me see how we are

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OnTheWrongSideOfTheBed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnTheWrongSideOfTheBed/gifts).



> honestly i don't even know what went on in my mind to come up with this but it happened and it's here 
> 
> thank you to [OnTheWrongSideOfTheBed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnTheWrongSideOfTheBed/pseuds/OnTheWrongSideOfTheBed) for listening to this crazy idea and encouraging me to live all of my my reunion fic dreams x
> 
> enormous disclaimer: i have never been to couples counselling none of this is accurate at all it's just for fun

It had been Noel’s idea, of course. 

“If we’re going to do this,” he’d said, “we have to do it right.” Liam had just stared at him. What the fuck was that supposed to mean? 

“We’re doing it right,” he’d said. “We’re proper in love again, innit?” Noel had rolled his eyes, let out an exasperated sigh, and put his hands on his hips, big-brother mode fired up and ready to go. 

“We’re going to therapy,” he’d said, like it was already decided and Liam didn’t have a say in the matter. Both of them knew Liam _didn’t_ have a say in the matter, really, not if Noel had made his mind up on it, but it wouldn’t stop him complaining about it. 

"Therapy?" Liam had said scornfully. "Why, what's wrong with you? I'm fucking celestial, me. I don't need to go." Noel had rolled his eyes again, crossed his arms this time, and stared Liam down. 

"This is exactly why we need to go," he'd said, raising an eyebrow, making Liam feel ten years old again, trying to play with the big boys when he didn't know what they were on about. "It's never going to work unless we can communicate properly. Otherwise it’ll just be the same as before.” 

“We can communicate,” Liam had blustered. “You write songs, I sing ‘em. What more is there to it?” 

Apparently there's a lot more to it, which is how they’ve ended up here, in the slightly dingy and threadbare waiting room of a therapist Noel had found online. 

“Stop fidgeting,” Noel hisses. 

“Why?” Liam says. It’s a fair question, he thinks. Who’s he harming by twiddling his fucking thumbs? 

“It’s annoying.” 

“I’m arsed.” Liam crosses and uncrosses his legs pointedly, and Noel inhales deeply and slaps Liam’s thigh when he crosses them again. 

“Fucking stop,” he says, but his hand lingers on Liam’s thigh, and Liam doesn’t move again. 

“That’s all you had to do,” Liam says, with a grin, relishing the way Noel’s fingers tighten on his thigh a little, making his jeans dig into his skin. 

The door opposite them opens, and Noel’s fingers jump off of Liam’s thigh like they’re on fire, find their way into Noel’s own lap as he stares up at the lady who’s standing in the doorway with a polite, but slightly confused smile. 

“Hello,” she says warmly, but there’s a slight crease in her brow, like she doesn’t quite understand what’s going on. Liam feels a little vindicated at that, can’t help but shoot Noel a quick and triumphant _see, I told you so_ glance that Noel steadfastly ignores. Even the fucking therapist doesn’t think they should be there, clearly. “I’m Lucy. Come on in.” She stands aside and gestures into the room, and Noel stands up and thanks her as he walks past. Liam copies him, making sure to smile at her as he passes - Noel’s still not learnt that art, the uptight bastard - and settles into a chair next to Noel. It’s quite low to the ground, makes Liam wonder whether this is how Noel experiences the world, and he puts his hands on the arms, pats them twice just for something to do. Noel’s sat next to him in that carefully relaxed position he’s mastered over the years, looking calm and casual to any outsider but tense and alert to Liam. See, they don’t fucking need this, do they? Liam can read Noel like a fucking book - _better_ than a fucking book, because he can read Noel left to right, right to left, up and down, back to front. 

“I have to say,” Lucy begins, sitting down in a chair opposite the two of them, “I’m surprised to see you here. This is a little unorthodox. Usually for brothers I’d suggest family therapy, but I suppose you did have a close relationship of sorts, as bandmates.” Noel nods along, like he’s following what she’s saying, and Liam tries his best to look at least slightly interested. 

“I thought couples counselling would work best given our...complicated situation,” Noel says, and he’s facing and speaking to Lucy but he’s addressing Liam. Couples counselling? Fucking hell. Noel’s gone soft in his old age, then. He could barely bring himself to look Liam in the eye the morning after, most times, let alone acknowledge their relationship for what it was. 

“Yes, I can understand that,” Lucy says, nodding along. “Well, usually the first session with my clients I like to just get a feel of the situation, to see whether we’d get on and be able to form a relationship. It’s important that you feel safe with me, that you can be candid and honest, because we won’t be able to make any progress otherwise.” Liam can’t help but snort, earning himself a cold glare from Noel. Well, that’s that, then. He can’t exactly turn to Lucy and say _right, so when our kid was doing me up the arse, yeah-_ can he? 

“Right,” Noel says, the mouthpiece for the both of them again. Liam doesn’t like that. 

“And what if we don’t get on?” he says. Better to get straight to the point, isn’t it? Noel clearly doesn’t think so, from the icy look he gives Liam, but whatever. They’re here to learn to _communicate,_ aren’t they? 

“Then I can recommend some other therapists that may be good matches,” Lucy says. Liam sinks back in his chair and shrugs. Noel’s paying, so on his head be it. “Why don’t we start with the basics? What brings you here?” 

“Our kid wants us to _communicate,_ ” Liam says, drawing out the last word and making it drip with sarcasm. He sees Noel stiffen to his right and feels that warm sense of satisfaction flowing through him, that _I’ve got to him_ that he’s missed for the past decade. God, it’s fucking heady, makes him want to dig in further, see if he can make a home under Noel’s skin. 

“Okay,” Lucy says, nodding seriously. “It seems like you don’t share the sentiment.” 

“We communicate just fine,” Liam says, picking at a splinter of wood on the right arm of his chair. “I call him a cunt, he calls me a cunt, then we go to the pub. What more d’you want, eh?” 

“That’s exactly the problem,” Noel says, a little sharply. “Liam can’t take any of this seriously. I’m not willing to reunite with him if it’s just going to be the same as before, because it was fucking insufferable.” 

“Hang on a minute,” Liam says with a frown, and gestures vaguely in front of him. “Who’s not taking this seriously? I’m here, aren’t I?” 

“Only because I’m paying,” Noel says, which, in fairness, is true. That in itself, though, isn’t enough to haul Liam out of his house and into a car halfway across London. That’s all Noel. 

“Fair point,” he says, because he’s not going to give Noel the satisfaction of knowing he’s the only reason Liam’s dragged himself here. Noel gives him a sideways look out of narrowed eyes, and then turns back to Lucy. 

“I’m not going to do this if it’s not going to be different,” he says, speaking to her but addressing Liam. 

“It is different,” Liam insists. “I’m older, you’re older, we’ve got kids, and that. I’m mature now, me.” Noel snorts at that, derisive and contemptuous, and Liam scowls, digging his thumbnail into the arm of the chair under the splinter. 

“It seems like you feel very strongly about this, Noel,” Lucy says. “What do you feel your communication issues are?” 

“Liam doesn’t listen to me,” Noel says. 

“I listen when you say something worth listening to,” Liam says. 

“He has to push back against everything I say,” Noel continues, like Liam hadn’t spoken at all, and a little pointedly, like Liam’s just illustrated his point. “He can’t ever let anything be. There’s always got to be a struggle with Liam.” 

“Where’s the fucking fun in it otherwise?” Liam mutters, mostly under his breath, and pulls the splinter out. 

“It seems like you’re feeling a little frustrated, Liam,” Lucy says. Liam raises his eyebrows, and digs his thumbnail back into the arm of the chair. “It’s important that you feel able to tell Noel how you feel about this.” _Candid and honest,_ she’d said, hadn’t she? Well, fucking fine, then. Liam can do candid and honest. 

“I only push because we both know I’m going to do whatever he wants anyway,” he says, eyes on the new splinter he’s pulled up with his thumbnail. “It’s just a fucking show, and he knows it.” Noel exhales, relaxes a little, and sinks back into the chair, throwing one hand in the air. 

“That’s it,” he says. “He’s never said that to me before, you know. Forty-seven years I’ve known the kid, and he’s never said it.” Liam scowls again, and pulls another splinter out of the chair. 

“I’ve never fucking had to,” he says. “You always fucking knew it.” 

“Yeah, but-” 

“That’s my fucking _point,_ ” Liam says. “We _do_ communicate. Why’ve we suddenly got to sit down every Sunday evening and spend two hours holding hands and talking about our feelings?” 

“It’s Tuesday,” Noel says, and Liam throws his hands up in the air in exasperation. Noel’s _just_ as fucking bad as him, only he won’t admit it. At least Liam wears it on his fucking sleeve, can hold his hands up and say _yeah, I purposefully provoke Noel and goad him into fights, what about it?_ Noel pretends he’s above it, pretends he’s got the moral high ground, acts all high-and-mighty, but he’s just as bad as Liam. Worse, maybe, Liam thinks, _because_ he won’t admit it. 

“It looks like there’s a lot that’s still unresolved between the two of you,” Lucy says, looking from Liam to Noel and back again, and Liam snorts, mutters _yeah, you can say that again,_ and Noel sends Liam a hard look. 

“D’you want this to work, or not?” he says bluntly, and Liam rolls his eyes. They don’t need therapy. They just need to fight and fuck and kiss and make up again. And it’d probably help if Noel took the stick out of his arse. 

“How do you feel about coming to therapy, Liam?” Lucy asks. Liam shrugs. 

“I think it’s a load of bollocks,” he says. “For me and our kid, I mean. Can do wonders for other people, not bashing it as a whole, y’know, but we don’t need it. We’ve never needed it.”

“And look where we’ve ended up before,” Noel says, gesturing out at the room, like the carefully-non-clinical office full of books and papers describes their relationship. 

“That was your choice,” Liam points out. 

“It wasn’t my _choice,_ Liam,” Noel says. “You’d’ve driven us into the ground if I’d stayed. Leaving was the only way to save us.” 

“Leaving’s what drove us into the ground.” Liam’s not buying it. 

“Why don’t we talk about your relationship?” Lucy says. “I feel that this discussion isn’t currently particularly conducive to the goals you want to achieve.” Liam thinks the whole fucking shebang isn’t conducive to the goal he wants to achieve, which is getting the fuck out of here. 

“What about it?” Noel says, sounding open to the question, but Liam hears the edge of guardedness in his tone. He snorts, loudly and derisively, just so Noel knows he’s heard it. _Yeah, go on then, our kid, tell her how we fucked. Tell her how good I sucked you off. Tell her how much you loved marking me up and filling me up._

“How would you characterise it?” Lucy asks. 

“Explosive,” Noel says immediately. “Turbulent. Exhausting.” 

“Yin and yang,” Liam puts in. “And-

“If you say fucking Cain and Abel-”

“-Cain and Abel.” Noel just shakes his head, gripping the arms of the chair he’s sat in. His ring’s reflecting light off it, shining bright and red in Liam’s face, like some kind of warning. _You're too close to the bone,_ maybe. There should be another ring there instead, he thinks. _Their_ ring. 

“That’s interesting that you mention that, Liam,” Lucy says. “If I recall correctly, Cain killed Abel.” 

“Yeah.” Lucy blinks at him, like she’s expecting him to add something, but Liam has nothing else to say. He knows what he means, Noel knows what he means, why should he fucking care if some random therapist knows what he means? 

“Let’s shelve that for now, then,” Lucy says decisively, but Noel snorts contemptuously. 

“Good luck with that,” he says. “Liam’s been going on about us being fucking Cain and Abel for about twenty years now.” 

“You know exactly what I mean, though,” Liam points out. “You just like to pretend you don’t.” Noel stays silent, just drums his fingers against the arm of the chair, and Lucy turns to him, looking interested. 

“Do you think that’s true?” she asks, and Noel shrugs. 

“What part?” he says evasively. 

“Let me rephrase,” she says. “Do you think you do know what Liam means when he says that?” 

“Yeah,” Noel says. He also doesn’t elaborate, and something warm blossoms in Liam’s chest like it does every time it’s the two of them on the same side. There are few things that feel as good as fighting with Noel, but fighting alongside Noel is definitely one of them. 

“That’s interesting,” Lucy says. “It seems like the two of you understand each other very well.” 

“We do,” Liam says. “We’re, like, telepathic, and that.” Noel sighs, rolls his eyes, but doesn’t disagree. They are, Liam thinks. He knows exactly what Noel’s thinking right now, knows it from the way he’s tapping his left index finger against the arm of the chair and the way he’s a little tense. He’s thinking _Liam’s right, but I don’t want him to be. I’ll give it him, though, the kid needs a shred of my attention. He’s always scrounging for scraps around me._

“Do you agree, Noel?” Lucy asks. 

“To some extent,” Noel says, which is pretty much an _abso-fucking-lutely_ from him. 

“This is what I’m fucking saying,” Liam says, turning to Noel. “You get me, I get you. Why the fuck are we here?” 

“I told you,” Noel says, a touch exasperated, turning to look back at him, blue meeting blue. Liam’s still not quite used to the new wrinkles around his eyes, the new lines on his forehead, the way his laughter lines have deepened even further. He hates it, hates the proof that Noel had lived for so long without Liam, wants to reach out and smooth the extra lines away. “It’s not going to work unless we can communicate.” 

“Why d’you keep saying we can’t communicate?” Liam says irritably. “We’re fucking communicating right now.” 

“Are you telling me if we weren’t in a therapist’s office right now you wouldn’t have decked me already?” Noel says. Decked, no, Liam wants to say. Kissed, maybe. 

“I wouldn’t’ve decked you,” he says, and he knows Noel will know what he means. See? They can fucking communicate. This is such a waste of fucking time. They haven’t spoken in eleven fucking years, and this is how Noel wants to reunite? In a therapist’s office, where Liam can’t let his hands roam and explore the new crevices on Noel’s face, see whether his fingers still fit around his cock like they used to? “Anyway, that’s still communicating, innit?” Noel sighs, rolls his eyes, but doesn’t disagree. Liam’s always expressed himself better with his fists than he has with his words, could always curl them into an act of love as well as an act of hate. Words, that’s not his thing. That’s not even Noel’s thing, although he likes to pretend it is. Nothing’ll ever be as eloquent an _I love you_ as their desperate, fumbling fingers and gasping, open mouths. 

“I can see there’s a lot of tension here,” Lucy says. Liam scoffs, and raises his eyebrows as he leans back in the chair and looks over to his left at the weird fucking globe Lucy’s got plonked in the corner. Doesn’t take a fucking hundred-pound-an-hour therapist to notice that there’s tension between the Gallagher brothers, does it? Just takes a set of eyes and a quid to buy the Sun. 

“That’s why we’re here,” Noel says. 

“Speak for yourself,” Liam mutters, and Noel sighs, all long-suffering, like this is as much of an ordeal for him as it is for Liam. He’s the one that fucking dragged them here, though, isn’t he? Liam’s only here for Noel. 

“Liam,” Lucy says, before Noel has the chance to snap back at Liam like his deep intake of breath is indicating he’s going to. “Why do you think Noel’s keen on therapy for the two of you?” 

“To waste my Tuesday afternoon,” Liam says. “So I can’t be in the studio writing songs that’ll knock his off the charts.” Noel sighs, rubs at his eyes with his thumb and index finger. “No, I don’t know. Because he’s read a new self-help book, or summat. Because Mam’s been on the phone to him, I don’t know.” 

“Let’s return to something Noel said earlier,” Lucy says, not unkindly. “He said ‘do you want this to work, or not?’” 

“Right,” Liam says. Lucy looks at him expectantly, like she’s just made a point, but all he’s heard is her repeating Noel’s admonishment of Liam. “And?” he prompts. 

“What do you take from that?” she asks. 

“That he thinks I can’t do anything right,” Liam says. “That he thinks he’s better than me.” 

“That’s interesting,” Lucy says. “Noel, is that what you meant when you asked Liam that?”

“No,” Noel says. Lucy turns back to Liam. 

“Let’s look at that, then,” she says. “Noel asked you whether you wanted this to work, and you thought he was being demeaning. Why do you think that is?” 

“‘Cause he is, ninety percent of the time,” Liam mutters. “He doesn’t think I can do fucking anything without him.” 

“It sounds like you might feel like you have to prove yourself to him.” 

“‘Course I do,” Liam says. “Nothing I ever do is fucking good enough for him, is it?” 

“Is that how you feel, Noel?” Lucy asks, turning to Noel, who shakes his head. 

“No,” he says. “Not at all.” He sounds a little surprised, actually, like it’s some sort of revelation that when Liam’s acting up, it’s partially to prove something to Noel, to prove that he can be something or someone without doing what Noel wants him to. 

“He would say that, though, wouldn’t he?” Liam says, aiming for scornful and falling flat. “Can’t ever admit he wants me to fail, ‘cause it’d be admitting I threaten him.” 

“You don’t threaten me,” Noel says. “I watched you shit yourself in a bathtub at the age of two.” 

“Alright, then, my _music_ threatens you,” Liam says, a touch sarcastically. “You can’t _stand_ that I’ve been successful without you.” 

“That’s not true,” Noel says, a little sharply. 

“Isn’t it?” Liam says, and he can’t help the bitterness that seeps into his tone. “You didn’t fucking support me through any of it. Nothing. Never a kind word about me or my songs.” Lucy perks up at that, and Liam slouches back further in the chair. The conversation’s struck a nerve, and she’s like a shark to blood. 

“How did that make you feel?” she asks, even though Liam thinks it’s pretty fucking obvious how it made him feel. 

“Like shit,” he says shortly. Lucy turns to Noel. 

“Is there anything you’d like to add?” she asks. Noel hesitates, and then sighs.

“I like your songs,” he says, slowly and carefully, like the words are thick and foreign on his tongue. 

“News to me,” Liam mutters. 

“Well, not all of them,” Noel amends, because he can’t ever let Liam have anything, abhors the very concept of praising Liam. “But some of them are good. Some of them are fucking shocking, though.” 

“That’ll be the ones I didn’t write, then,” Liam says, more to make a point rather than anything else. He knows he’s not a songwriter; he’s never claimed to be. He can dabble with a guitar, strum a few chords and try to remember how to make them into sevenths, but at the end of the day, he’s a singer. He’s not just _a_ singer - he’s _Noel’s_ singer, so of fucking course the songs aren’t as good as Oasis. Singing other people’s songs, even his own, has never sat quite right. 

“You’re not a bad songwriter,” Noel says, and he almost manages to make it sound like a compliment. It is a compliment, really, from Noel, pretty much tantamount to a declaration that Liam’s work belongs on the White Album, but Liam’s not going to let him see the way it’s made his fingertips tingle with something warm and familiar. Noel loves nothing more than how much Liam wants his attention and affection, fucking laps it up when Liam comes begging for a kind word or two, and Liam’s not going to let him have it today.

“I don’t need you to tell me that,” he says shortly. 

“D’you see what I mean?” Noel says, but he’s talking to Lucy now, not Liam, even though his left hand is gesturing sharply at Liam. “There’s so much animosity from the kid.” 

“You’re fucking twisting it,” Liam says hotly. “Just because I don’t want to be here, right, doesn’t mean I’m being a cunt.” 

“You keep mentioning that you don’t want to be here, Liam,” Lucy interjects, “and there’s certainly no obligation for you to come to therapy. I’m wondering what it is that’s made you come here, if you don’t want to be here, and you don’t have to be.” Liam’s eyes flit to her, blue meeting brown. She’s looking at him hard and a little shrewdly, like she knows what it is that’s made him come here even though he doesn’t want to and he doesn’t have to. He thinks all three of them know, a four-letter-word imprinted on Liam’s forehead and heart and soul for everyone to see. 

“Noel,” he says, a little reluctantly, and takes great joy in watching the way Noel’s fingers tighten around the arm of the chair out of the corner of his eye. Good, he thinks, a little spitefully. At least he’s not just making a fucking twat of himself for nothing, then. 

“That’s interesting,” Lucy says, nodding. “I wonder what you make of that, Noel.” 

“I’m not forcing you to be here,” Noel says. 

“I know that,” Liam says. 

“You came of your own accord.”

“Yeah, I know.” He’s bristling a bit now, hears the challenge in Noel’s voice but isn’t sure what he’s trying to get at with this. What part of _I’d do fucking anything for you, Noel, anything to get a little corner of your heart again, even going to fucking therapy_ is Noel not understanding? 

“I think what Noel’s trying to say, and correct me if I’m wrong,” Lucy says, “is that you’re under no orders from him to come to therapy, and that you have the freedom to say no.” 

“Yeah,” Noel says, sounding a little irritated. “So don’t go around acting like I’m your bastard big brother, holding you at fucking gunpoint and saying _get to therapy, you little cunt._ ” 

“Who said that, you prick?” Liam says, incensed. 

“You _just_ said I’m the only reason you’re here,” Noel says. “I’m not fucking forcing you to be here.”

“I’m not here because you’re fucking forcing me,” Liam grits out. “I’m my own fucking bloke, y’know, not your fucking puppet.” 

“Well, why the fuck did you say you’re only here because of me, then?” Noel demands. 

“I’m here _for_ you,” Liam snaps, and Noel’s lips form a sort of O-shape and then close abruptly. Liam feels a surge of grim satisfaction coursing through him, lapping at his nerves and veins, as he watches the briefest flashes of surprise and guilt cross Noel’s face. Serves him right, the fucking cunt. 

“What do you mean by that, Liam?” Lucy says, seizing the moment. Liam doesn’t look at her when he opens his mouth again, stares steadfastly at Noel, daring him to hold his gaze. 

“Well, our kid keeps going on about how we need to _communicate,_ right, and he seems to think therapy’s going to sort that out,” Liam says. “So, y’know, I’m here for that. For him.” 

“Is there anything you’d like to say to that, Noel?” Lucy says. Noel blinks once, slow and controlled, like he’s weighing up his thoughts to see which one he should let form on his tongue. 

“I didn’t know that,” is all he says. Talk about fucking anticlimactic. 

“Well, now you do,” Liam mutters, averting his eyes and staring back at the latest splinter he’s dug up in the arm of the chair to cover the way he feels so oddly exposed now, so strangely vulnerable under Noel’s hot gaze. “What?” he snaps, when Noel doesn’t say anything else, just keeps staring at Liam in half-wonder, blurry in Liam’s peripheral vision. “Want a fucking autograph, or summat?” 

“I just-” Noel shakes his head, pulls himself out of wherever his mind had wandered to. “I didn’t realise you were doing it for me. I didn’t think you were taking it seriously.” 

“I _just_ fucking said-” Liam starts indignantly, because all of two minutes ago he’d tried to tell Noel that the only reason he was here was for Noel, who had decided to take it as a personal attack, but Noel interrupts.

“I _know,_ ” he says, and he sounds a little pained. Good, Liam thinks. Let him suffer. 

“Let’s take a closer look at this, and correct me if I’m wrong,” Lucy says, leaning forward a little. “Liam, you don’t want to be in therapy, but you’re here because Noel wants to be here and wants you to be here.” Liam nods, short and jerky. “And Noel, you understood Liam saying he was here because of you to mean that he felt you were forcing him to come to therapy.” Noel nods too, much more calm and collected than Liam, but Liam can see the way his knuckles are almost white where he’s gripping the arm of his chair. “So it seems like Liam is willing to attend therapy if it’s what you want, Noel, even if he doesn’t want to be here, which is a sacrifice.” 

“Exactly,” Liam says under his breath, feeling a little vindicated. Everything Liam’s ever done for Noel has been some kind of a sacrifice, whether it was a yielding or an offering. 

“And Liam, it seems like Noel’s quick to assume that you feel obligated or forced by him to do things that you don’t want to, which indicates to me that he’s concerned that you’re not doing things for yourself - no, let me rephrase that - for the right reasons,” Lucy says. Noel nods again, a little more relaxed this time, and Liam frowns. 

“What d’you mean?” he says. “I do things for myself, me. I don’t do nothing for anyone.” He pauses, and then, because all of them already fucking know it anyway, adds: “Except for Noel.” 

“That’s just it, though,” Noel says. “I don’t want you to do things just because I want you to do ‘em, y’know. I want you to do things because they’ll make you happy.” 

“You want me to be happy?” Noel rolls his eyes. 

“‘Course I want you to be happy, you prick,” he says, but there’s no heat behind his words, just a little embarrassment. “You’re my brother, aren’t you? Fucking pain in the arse, mind, but you’re still my brother.” Liam can’t help the grin that spreads across his face at that, widening when Noel tuts and turns away from him, and when Liam sees the slight pink tinge on the top of Noel’s cheeks. 

“Doing things for you makes me happy,” Liam says honestly, and watches in glee as the pink tinge turns to red. 

“That’s not healthy,” Noel says, and Liam shrugs, because he knows Noel’s only saying that for show, knows he doesn’t really care about that, knows it from the way Noel’s lips are twitching in the tiniest of smiles. He’s pleased that Liam likes doing things for him, Liam knows he is, and it makes something oddly warm wash over Liam from his head to his toes. Who fucking cares about healthy, anyway? Noel bashing Liam’s head in with a cricket bat and then sucking his dick like his life depended on it probably wasn’t healthy either, but still one of the best nights of Liam’s life.

“Don’t care,” he says. “Anyway, I still have a choice, don’t I? I’m not going to take off all my clothes and run bollock naked around Maida Vale just because you want me to.” 

“I don’t want you to,” Noel says. “My neighbours might see you.” 

“I’ll write _Noel told me not to_ on my willy, then,” Liam retorts, which isn’t exactly his wittiest remark ever, but still has Noel rolling his eyes. His lips are just slightly quirked up, though, probably invisible to someone who hasn’t been watching Noel’s lips for the better part of thirty years, and Liam can’t help the satisfied grin that creeps its way onto his own face at the fact he’s made Noel smile like that, fond and unable to help himself. See, they’re communicating, aren’t they? Might’ve taken Lucy to translate what Liam was trying to say, but that’s Noel’s fault, really, isn’t it? If the cunt weren’t always looking to pick Liam apart, they’d be all roses. 

“See?” Noel says, like he’s following Liam’s train of thought. Maybe he is. “We need a third party to interpret.” 

“Do we fuck,” Liam scoffs, which is maybe a little bit rude in front of Lucy, but whatever. No one can interpret the two of them, not really. They can push them in the right direction, maybe, but who’s going to be able to read the _fuck me_ eyes that Liam sends Noel when Noel’s fist is raised above his head, or the furious _be a good boy for me, then_ eyes that Noel sends right back, lips already spit-slick and parted for Liam? 

“Are you seriously trying to tell me we would have got to that conclusion on our own?” Noel says, arching an eyebrow, looking simultaneously sanctimonious and provocative. Liam wants to grab him by the throat, throttle him a little, and then drop to his knees. “This is precisely what I’m on about, Liam. We need therapy.” 

“Get to fuck,” Liam mutters, but he’s too caught up in the line of Noel’s jaw as it clenches and unclenches to really mean it. 

“Why do you think Noel’s here, Liam?” Lucy asks. Liam shrugs. 

“Dunno,” he says, tearing his eyes away from Noel to spare her a glance. 

“Do you think that maybe Noel thinks that therapy would be good for the two of you?” Lucy says. 

“That’s what he says.” 

“So, do you think that if Noel’s trying to do something that he thinks will make your relationship better, maybe he _wants_ your relationship to be better?” 

Oh. 

_Oh._

Noel watches the penny drop, spreads his hands and raises his eyebrows in a _see, Jesus fucking Christ_ sort of way, mixed with a strong hint of relief and satisfaction. 

It all seems to sort of click into place all at once. _D’you want this to work, or not?_ Noel had said, curt and brusque, and Liam had heard _are you fucking capable of doing this, of not fucking it up again?_ But maybe what Noel had meant was _the ball’s in your court. I want this to work; it all depends on you now._ Maybe when Noel had said _we need a third party to interpret_ he hadn’t meant _I don’t want to be alone with you_ but rather _I want to get back to us. I want us to be how we were, but we can’t do that with ten years of change in between us._ Maybe, where Liam’s doing it for Noel, for the _him_ and the _his,_ Noel’s doing it for them. For him and Liam, for the _us_ and the _we_ and the _our._

“Oh,” Liam says, can’t help the word escaping as the thoughts all start to slot into place, and Noel sighs like a weight’s been lifted off his shoulders, sits back in his chair and looks relaxed for the first time all afternoon. He should’ve just fucking said, then, shouldn’t he, if it was such a fucking burden. Shouldn’t’ve tried to be all cryptic, like they’re fighting the fucking Second World War and Liam’s some kind of one-man Bletchley Park. 

“Is there anything you’d like to add, Noel?” Lucy asks, and Liam blinks at her almost hazily, thoughts still racing and tripping over each other in their haste to get to the forefront of his mind. Noel _wants_ this. Noel wants them, wants things to be good, wants to make it work. Noel, Liam realises with a jolt, wants this to be permanent. 

Oh, fuck. Noel wants him again. 

It feels like a fucking supernova when it hits, feels like every cell in his body is alight and burning and dying and being reborn from itself at the same time. Noel wants him, wants _them,_ wants fucking all of it, all the shit that Liam hadn’t even considered because he’d been so blinkered by Noel. Liam’s never been able to see the bigger picture, to see past the Noel-shaped fog in his mind, and Noel’s never been able to let go of the bigger picture, to step forward from his bird’s-eye view of the chaos and love and hate that makes up the two of them to just see Liam. Noel’s _trying,_ and he’s trying hard, which is more than he’s ever done before. 

“Yeah,” Noel says, to Liam. “You’re a prick.” Liam’s mind is still occupied with trying to comprehend that Noel wants the two of them to work, that he wants Liam back, but it spares a few brain cells to let Liam give Noel a quick two-fingered salute, and to let a small smile find its way onto his lips, widening when he sees Noel shake his head and look down at his lap, trying to hide his own fond grin. 

“Your prick, though,” Liam says, which twenty years ago would have earnt him a cuff upside the head, a glare and a hissed _what the fuck, you can’t be fucking saying things like that to people, what the fuck will they think_ , but now, Noel just huffs out a laugh, amused and affectionate. 

“We’ve only got a few minutes left,” Lucy says, “and I think this seems like a good place to end. I can envision us building a good relationship together, and I believe I could help the two of you to communicate more effectively, but I wonder what you think?” Liam looks at Noel, because he’s the one who wanted to come here, and Noel nods. 

“I think we could work together,” he says, and glances at Liam, a silent question in his eyes. 

“Yeah, go on then,” Liam says, with a shrug. “As long as you’re paying.” Noel sighs, rolls his eyes, but he’s still relaxed and amused, his fingers curled lightly around the arm of the chair. 

“Perfect,” Lucy says, and starts talking about appointments and dates and times and bank account details, none of which is of any interest to Liam whatsoever, so he slumps back in the chair and lets Noel nod along and ask the right questions. 

Fucking hell, he thinks, still reeling a little, as Noel takes a sheet of paper from Lucy and nods again, brows knitted together in concentration as he listens to whatever she’s telling him. Noel wants _them_ again, a Noel-and-Liam rather than a Noel and a Liam. Mam’ll be so pleased. Well, as long as she doesn’t ever find out what that really means. 

“C’mon,” Noel says, jolting Liam out of his thoughts, and Liam pushes himself to his feet, holds his hand out for Lucy and murmurs a quick thank-you before following Noel out of the office and back down the cramped spiral staircase down to the street. Noel’s walking slowly, dead fucking slow, looking around the corner warily like he’s half-expecting a battalion to come charging up at them, and when they’re about half a flight away from the ground floor he stops dead in his tracks and turns to Liam. Liam’s feet are half a second behind his eyes and keep walking until he’s on the step just above Noel, and he halts abruptly, almost falling forwards with the momentum he’s got going, and flings out a hand to steady himself against the wall. 

“Thank you,” Noel says, blinking up at Liam, even shorter than usual because of the step’s difference. Liam kind of likes it, kind of likes that he’s towering over Noel but Noel’s still the one with power over him. 

“What for?” Liam asks. 

“For coming,” Noel says. Liam knows what he really means is _for what you said, and for doing it for me, and for still being mine,_ but Noel won’t go that far. Baby steps are a start, though, aren't they? 

Liam just shrugs, takes his hand off the wall, and scratches at his chin. 

“‘S alright,” he says. Noel opens his mouth, like he wants to say something else, and then closes it again and purses his lips. 

“We can’t tell her,” he says, instead of whatever he was going to say. 

“I’m not thick,” Liam says, a touch resentfully. “Wasn’t about to sit down and say _aye, right, when our kid was sucking me off last week-_ ”

“Hang on a minute, who’s sucking you off?” Noel says, idly indignant, so Liam knows he doesn’t really mean it. “Bit presumptuous.” His eyes dart to the right, like he’ll be able to see down the stairwell out of the corner of his eye. 

“You know what I mean.” Noel purses his lips again, holds Liam’s gaze for a minute, searching for something in the same blue eyes as his own, and then sighs like he’s giving in to something. 

“C’mere,” he says, a little reluctantly, like he wishes he didn’t want to do this. Liam looks down at their feet. 

“Where?” he says, because there’s no fucking room. Noel sighs again, a little exasperated this time. 

“Don’t make me fucking say it,” he warns. Liam just cocks his head, blinks a few times, making sure his eyelashes are fluttering the way he knows Noel likes. Or liked, at the very least. No, likes, definitely, because Noel inhales deeply, brings a hand up - far up, the fucker really is short - and curls it around the nape of Liam’s neck. 

He won’t say it, but he doesn’t have to, because he’s pulling, and Liam’s letting himself be pulled. Down too far, maybe, and it’s uncomfortable and he almost trips off the step but it doesn’t matter, because Noel's got a strong arm around him now and his grip on Liam’s neck is firm too, and he’s pressing his lips to Liam’s fiercely but a little hesitantly, like he’s forgotten how they fit together. Liam hasn’t, though, hasn’t gone a day without thinking about the shape of Noel against himself, so he tilts his head just right and parts his lips just a little, unsure whether Noel wants _that_ but opening himself up to it all the same. Opening himself up to Noel, like he always does. 

Noel doesn’t take it, though, just kisses back softly, gently, chastely, fingers hovering above Liam’s hip like he wants to stroke it but isn’t sure whether he should. That’s okay, Liam thinks, already dizzy with the heady feeling of kissing Noel. This’ll do, for now. 

It’s not long, just a few seconds, because they’re in an awkward position and Noel’s never been able to lose himself in Liam unless there’s nobody within a two mile radius, but when Noel pulls away and lets his hand fall from the nape of Liam’s neck it just rests on Liam’s chest instead, fingers right above Liam’s heart. It’s beating steadily, thumping like it’s trying to get out of Liam’s chest and reach Noel’s fingertips. It might be, actually. Liam’d stopped going to Biology in Year Eight, so he’s not sure whether the physical effects of being hopelessly in love with your brother were ever covered. 

Then, like he’s forcibly pulled himself together, Noel’s hand flattens and he pats Liam on the chest, all brotherly, and takes a step back. 

“Better get a move on,” he says, his businesslike tone belied by the way his fingers absent-mindedly come up to his lips, touching them like he’s trying to touch Liam. “The cars’ll be waiting.” 

“Fuck the cars,” Liam says, but Noel’s already turned around and started walking to the bottom of the staircase, and fuck if Liam’s going to stand in some too-white stairwell on his own, so he follows in Noel’s wake, trying to ignore the way he can still feel Noel’s fingers on the nape of his neck. 

It’s cold outside when Noel pulls the door open, a gust of wind hitting Liam, who hadn’t brought a proper coat, and he huddles into his thin parka, eyes searching the street for the car he’d told to wait for an hour. 

“You should’ve brought a coat,” Noel remarks, spotting his car and heading for it. Liam trails behind, because predictably, his car is parked right next to it. 

“You should piss off,” Liam remarks to Noel’s back, childish and petulant just because he can be, and he can practically hear Noel rolling his eyes in response. He thinks Noel’s just going to keep walking, to get in his car and drive away without another word, but when they’re about three feet away from their cars, Noel turns on his heel and looks at Liam.

“We’ll see her next week, then,” he says. He’s a step too far from Liam, and Liam’s itching to close the gap, but knows Noel will fucking sock him if he tries that in front of their drivers. 

“Yeah,” Liam says. “When?” Noel frowns. 

“Didn’t you listen?” he says, and Liam shrugs and shakes his head. Noel tuts, rolls his eyes, and says: “You’re unbelievable.” Liam grins. 

“Mad for it,” he says. 

“I’ll text you,” Noel says, taking a step back and turning around, hand already reaching out for his door handle. 

“Yeah,” Liam calls after him, still rooted to the spot. “Communicate with me, eh?” Noel uses his free hand to shove two fingers up at Liam, who just laughs and returns the favour, loving the way Noel’s eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles back. Liam didn’t know he could still do that to Noel, and it makes him sort of giddy, makes him want to add even more lines to the crow’s feet Noel’s gained since Liam last saw him. 

It feels like an apt goodbye, so Liam turns to his own car and slides into the backseat. 

“Cheers for waiting,” he says, and the driver just nods as he starts the engine. Liam busies himself with clicking his seatbelt into place and watching Noel’s car pull out in front of them, lost in the busy London traffic within moments. 

They manage to pull out after a minute or so of crawling forwards and pushing into the steady stream of cars, and Liam’s busy staring out of the window at the shops and people when his phone buzzes in his pocket. He decides to ignore it, thinking he can do without the nagging from his management about not calling people cunts on Twitter just for being Scousers, but then it buzzes again, and the vibrations really are annoying against his arsecheek. He lifts his hips off the seat to fish it out - fucking terrible design, jeans - and presses the button to see two texts. 

**_NG_ ** _  
_ _Tuesday 20/10/20, 3pm. Wear a coat._

 **_NG_ ** _  
_ _See you soon._

Liam can’t help but smile at that, big and broad. _Wear a coat,_ Noel had said, which is Noel-speak for _look after yourself, I care about you._ _See you soon,_ he’d said, all of two minutes after leaving, which is Noel-speak for _I’m looking forward to seeing you again._

**_Me_ ** _  
_ _Love you too_

(It’s what Noel had meant.) 


End file.
